A Love Warm and Bright
by tala-hiding
Summary: After Booth returns to DC with his new girlfriend, Brennan attempts to start with a clean slate by returning some of his things. Inspired by Vertical Horizon's "Sunrays and Saturdays".
1. All Boxed Up

**Title: **A Love Warm and Bright (1/3)

**Rating: **K+ (for now)

**Summary:** After Booth returns to DC with his new girlfriend, Brennan attempts to start with a clean slate by returning some of his things. Inspired by Vertical Horizon's "Sunrays and Saturdays".

**Spoilers**: Up til the end of S5 and current S6 spoilers.

**Disclaimer**: Bones is the property of FOX, Hart Hanson, and various other awesome and intelligent people who work for one of the best television shows currently on air.

**Author's Notes**: Like many other shippers out there, I do believe that B&B are meant together, like icing on a cupcake, cherry on a sunday, apple in a pie. But I don't think getting together would be easy, especially with what we've heard of Season 6. Having said that, I'm also fairly certain that after returning from Maluku Islands, Brennan would have already realized the extent of her feelings for Booth, but wouldn't want to be labeled a homewrecker. Instead, she'd be supportive and loyal, but at the same time, she'd be wallowing in regret.

* * *

Seeley Booth was trained, both by his military superiors and his teachers at Quantico, to be exceptionally observant. After all, he wouldn't be good at his job had he not honed his intuition as well as his reflexes. Tonight, for instance, just as he was turning in, there were two knocks on his apartment door. Rapid-fire, knuckles striking the wood quickly, impatiently. _Bones_, he thought, padding on bare feet towards the door, flicking the deadbolt from the catch and opening the door.

She stood outside his door, her pale skin luminous in the hallway light, her dark hair pulled up in a simple ponytail. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold snap. She was carrying a cardboard box with his name on the outside in her careful handwriting. It was filled with bric-a-bracs: he could see several books on proper investigative techniques, DVDs of _The Godfather_ and _Star Wars_, his black FBI t-shirt that she had swiped after one weekend. "Can I come in?" she asked hesitantly, peering over his shoulder to check if there was anyone there.

He raked a hand over his hair and waved her in. "Hannah's not here tonight, Bones. Relax. It's just me."

"Oh. Good." She stepped over the threshold and toed off her sneakers. "Not that I mean that it's good she's not here, it's just good, you know, since I'm not planning to stay anyway..." Her voice trailed off, a hint of blush still riding high on her cheeks.

He felt like he was in high school again, hemming and hawing, hands in the pockets of his cotton sleep pants. "So what have you got there, Bones?" he asked, trying to diffuse the tension that suddenly wrapped around them, threatening to cut off his air supply.

"You left some things in my apartment. I was cleaning up today, and I figured you might want them back." She stretched out her arms and handed him the box. His heart dropped right into the pit of his stomach as he looked at the contents. Staring back at him were Brainy Smurf and Jasper the Pig.

"Anyway, I'd better get going. I need to report tomorrow morning to the lab, and get my papers in order." She already had her back turned to him, slipping her shoes back on, her fingers on her key chain. "Oh, and before I forget - " she walked back and pressed a small metal object into his hand. The spare key to his apartment. Her palm was smooth and pale, her nails neatly trimmed. "I assume you'd prefer having your privacy, since you're now with Hannah, and would not appreciate any of us suddenly coming around in the middle of the night."

"But Bones, I - "

She flashed him a smile, obviously fake, and twisted the doorknob open. "I'll see you at work, Booth. Good night."

And then she was gone, and he was left standing in the middle of his kitchen, holding a box of old memories, old dreams, his heart threatening to break into a million pieces.

* * *

Temperance Brennan, by all accounts and purposes, was a logical and rational person. And when she came back from the Maluku Islands, she was quite certain that it was the logical and rational thing to give into the attraction that seemed to be pulling herself and Booth into an inevitable direction. After all, far be it for her to give into the whims of her emotions, she actually saw that being with Booth was something that had been in the works for quite some time (6 years!) and she figured that if he was still as in love with her as he professed to be, he would be quite pleased with her conclusion. She had examined each and every facet of their relationship, established that he did, indeed, love her and not in an "atta-girl" kind of way, and that she had also returned the sentiment. Love was, at least for her, an emotion that was so out of her league that only quiet meditation on a faraway island was able to hit it home.

But when he arrived at the Founding Fathers Friday evening, his arms were slung around the slender shoulders of a pretty blonde with sparkling eyes and sharp witticisms. He introduced her to the Squint Squad as Hannah, his girlfriend. Brennan felt her fingers and toes go numb, and the margarita in her mouth turned to dust. Cam closed her eyes for a second, trying not to slug her friend, while both Hodgins and Angela gave her a look that was a mix of pity and heartbreak. (Thankfully, Sweets had declined their invitation; he was busy celebrating Daisy's return in private, thanks very much.)

Booth introduced her with pride and warmth in his voice. "And this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." But the word 'partner' suddenly seemed to be the last thing she wanted to be named as: she was more than his partner. She was his best friend, his confidant, the only person he trusted with his entire life. And now... now his eyes were drawn to another, someone who returned his warmth, his open heart, his love. She could see Booth and Hannah 30, 40, 50 years from now and she was suddenly feeling very cold and very alone.

"I'm sorry everyone," she said once the couple were ensconced beside a very uncomfortable Camille Saroyan. "I'm not feeling very well. I think I'd better go home."

Angela's face was carefully schooled to not betray the flame of anger in her eyes. "Are you sure you'll be all right, sweetie?" she asked, wrapping a comforting arm around Brennan's shoulder.

"Yes, I'll be fine," she assured them. She was surprised that Booth didn't immediately leap up and offer his company, his alpha-male tendencies now obviously directed towards someone else. Well, that was fine. She was an independent being, anyway, and didn't need any help. She picked up her bag, said a quiet goodbye to everyone at the table, and picked up the pieces of her broken dignity as she drove all the way back home.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning on the bed, he glanced at the digital read-out of the bedside clock. 2:46. He finally shrugged off the sheets and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of milk. En route to the fridge, his eyes fell upon the box that Bones had left a few hours back, along with the spare key to his apartment. Carefully, he picked up the box and walked over to the couch, setting himself down on the worn cushions and leaning back.

Six years of friendship, of partnership (of love?) narrowed down to a single box. He tossed the spare key inside, hearing it rattle between books and DVDs. He felt like he was on the wrong side of a break-up - not that there was anything between them, oh no, Bones made it very clear that night outside the Hoover. Nothing has changed, he was certain of that. Even their time apart did nothing for her: she was still wrapped up inside her comfortable blanket of logic and science and reason, and goodness knows he's tried too many times to teach her that there was more to life than the lab. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration; it was too much for any one man to bear, really, and wasn't he happy now that Hannah was in his life? Bright, spunky Hannah who made him laugh and gave him spontaneous hugs, who decorated her house with sunflowers and roses - beautiful flowers, flowers that women usually loved.

He was happy.

He was loved.

But he wasn't _in_ love.

The realization smacked him like a blast of desert wind. Gordon Gordon once told him that he didn't know where he stood with Bones, and what would or would not catch on fire. He suspected that even then, the good doctor (now chef) knew that there was something more than platonic feelings between the two of them. His hands trembling, he stood up, pounded his fists against the wall to let out his frustration. He swore he would never again let himself feel this way about Bones, about any other woman; he managed to pick himself up from the greatest heartbreak of his life and move on. A dry laugh escaped his throat. Move on? Moving right along, all right, but he knew that he was lying to himself, to Hannah, to the world. He was something more than just Seeley Booth; he was part of a team, he was the other half of Booth and Brennan, crime-fighting, pie-loving, late-night-takeaway-eating partners. And he knew that while for most people, the term 'partners' ran a whole gamut of meanings, for him, it only meant one thing: he was only half of a person without Bones.

Tugging on a pair of old jeans lying on the floor, Booth scooped up his keys and tucked the box under one arm. He hoped Bones was still a light sleeper; he needed to talk to her more than anything else in the world. And if he played his cards right, things might still get back on track.

* * *

She was wearing a short blue kimono-style sleep robe when she opened the door, her normally light blue eyes red-rimmed with weariness, her hair sleep-tousled despite the loose ponytail she had put it up in before going to bed. He took into account the half-empty bottle of Cabernet on the dining room table, and the single wineglass beside it. "It's three in the morning, Booth," she said quietly. "Is something wrong?"

He stepped into her personal space, invading the careful concentric circles of emotional distance she had erected for years, crowding her back into the hallway of her apartment. "We need to talk, Bones."

She shrugged. "Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No."

"What is it about?" She gestured for him to sit down at one of the comfortable arm chairs she had scattered around the apartment, and settled herself in the one opposite it. He could see that she was carefully gathering herself. "Are you angry at me?"

"Why would I be angry at you?"

"I don't - never mind." She undid her ponytail, allowing her wavy auburn hair to cascade down her shoulders. She had cut her hair while she was away; the bangs framing her face made her look younger, more vulnerable. "What was it you wanted to say?"

He reached into the pockets of his jeans and withdrew three items, placing them on the table. He slowly ran a hand across the surface of Jasper the pig. "Look, Bones, things have been different between us lately. And I know that neither of us are at fault. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Hannah - things were, well, awkward between us, and she was just so happy and so new and she reminded me of what I've been missing all this time - "

"Things I could never give you," she interjected bitterly.

"What? No, no, Bones it's not that." He scooted closer, taking one of her hands into his. It was easier to examine their intertwined fingers rather than looking into her eyes (truth be told, he was just afraid that if he looked into her eyes, he would just forget what he wanted to say and just kiss her). "Hannah's a lot of things, Bones, a lot of things I thought I wanted; needed, even. But she doesn't hold a candle to you, okay? Nobody does. You're still the standard, Bones." He took a deep breath, hoping against hope that this time, his gamble would pay off. "I love you, Temperance Brennan. I still do."

He could hear the clock in the hallway ticking like a death knell, the stuttered sound of her breathing. Daring to look up, Booth could see the tears puddling in the blue of her eyes. "Oh. Oh, Bones, please don't cry..."

She took a deep breath and carefully extricated her hand from his grip. "I think you need to go back, Booth. I think you need to figure out what you want first. I think you need to sort out your own life first."

"But - "

She stood up and walked over to the door, pulling it open wordlessly. Sighing, he stood up and made his way out. The gamble had failed. Again. Oh, he was an idiot twice, thrice, a million times over. He wanted to bang his head against the wall; it would dull the pain currently taking up residence in his chest.

"Booth."

He turned back. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. She had a slight smile on her face. "I love you, too, Seeley Booth," she said with quiet certitude.

And then she closed the door. After a heartbeat, he heard the deadbolt lock.

**A/N: Soooo... shall we continue? :) Reviews are always good for the soul.**


	2. Stripping Away The Seams

**Title: **A Love Warm and Bright (2/3)

**Rating: **T

**Summary:** After Booth returns to DC with his new girlfriend, Brennan attempts to start with a clean slate by returning some of his things. Inspired by Vertical Horizon's "Sunrays and Saturdays".

**Spoilers**: Up til the end of S5 and current S6 spoilers.

**Disclaimer**: Bones is the property of FOX, Hart Hanson, and various other awesome and intelligent people who work for one of the best television shows currently on air.

**Author's Notes**: So... the big break-up. I'm hoping I did it justice: I don't want Hannah to come off as some immature shrew, but I also don't want her to be a doormat. Hopefully, this balances things out. It's not perfect, but breakups never are. You might also want to thank my awesome AWESOME beta, S, who was on call throughout the day and gave some excellent suggestions as to where this story is going to go. So hold on to your horses - things are looking up! :)

* * *

_Things to do:_

_1. Tell Hannah things aren't working out._

_2. Buy new socks._

_3. Tell Bones I want to be with her forever._

Booth stared at the list on his notepad, rolled his eyes, and tore the sheet of paper off the pad. Balling it up, he lifted his arm and attempted to make a perfect three-point shot towards the wastebasket just as his girlfriend, Hannah, walked into the office, her visitor's tag clipped to her jean jacket. She looked fresh and pretty, even with minimal make-up on. Her eyes lit up as she saw him. "So handsome, ready for lunch?"

He mentally smacked his forehead on his desk. Right. A lunch date with his girlfriend - his hot, intelligent, holy-mother-of-God-awesome girlfriend, and all he could think about was an auburn-haired scientist with bright blue eyes and awkward social habits that could make his face light up with joy like the Fourth of frickin' July. "Hannah," he said, pushing his chair away from his desk and grabbing his suit jacket. "Let me just clean up."

She wandered around the office, running her slim fingers across the sports memorabilia and framed photographs and commendations scattered around the room, smiling as Bobble-head Bobby nodded at her from his position on his desk. She saw the balled-up piece of paper on the floor and moved to pick it up. "Seeley, you shouldn't be so messy in the office," she chided as she moved towards the wastebasket.

"Uh, Hannah don't - "

She smoothed out the crumpled sheet, her brow wrinkling as she took in his messy, looping handwriting. He saw the moment she understood what he'd written, and cursed himself for being a moron. She was a good woman, a good catch by most standards - most non-Bones standards, anyway. And she didn't deserve getting her heart broken this way.

Lifting her eyes up, she looked at him unwaveringly. "We need to talk, right?"

He nodded, cocking his head towards the door. "Come on, Hannah. Let's go take a walk, yeah?"

Outside the Hoover, spring was picking up. Wisps of white clouds scuttled across a bright blue sky, and there was still a chill in the air. Booth shoved his hands into the pockets of his trenchcoat, curbing the instinct to take Hannah's hand. She walked beside him, her pale blonde curls framing her face. She was a pretty girl, and he was sure that under different circumstances, she would be the perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with. She was intelligent and caring, she knew about the vagaries of war that most people would never have experienced, and yet retained a sense of perspective. She was fun and funny and he never had to explain to her what _50 First Dates_ was all about or who Oprah Winfrey was. But he had already given his heart to another, and there was no way to get it back.

They walked briskly down Pennyslvania Avenue, neither one speaking. He thought he saw a shadow of a tear dripping down the side of her face, but he thought it was simply a trick of the sunlight. They rounded down 9th Street and headed towards the National Museum of Natural History. The sprawling green lawn in front of the museum was littered with people: families out on picnics, white-haired men in colorful sweat suits walking their dogs, couples sharing their lunches. Hannah approached an empty bench underneath the thin, bare branches of a birch tree, her shoulders slouched as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

He sat down beside her: close enough that they weren't avoiding each other, but with enough space to remind each other that things would be changing very, very soon. He reached out to hold her hand. Her grip was slack, her pale pink nails barely grazing the skin on the back of his hand.

"Hannah, look - "

"It's your partner, isn't it?"

He chewed on the bottom of his lip, looked up at the sky as thought the answers were hidden in the hieroglyphs of the clouds. "Look, I told you about Bones, yeah? You knew that, even in the desert, you know about her. I didn't hide anything from you."

"I know." She swiped a tear threatening to fall from the corner of her eye. "You're not the type."

"I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or offended."

She gave him a sad smile. "I should've known. But then, I'm a sucker for guys like you. You love with all your heart, you'd give up everything for that person you love in a heartbeat." She took a deep breath. "But I'm not her, right?"

He was silent for a long time. In front of them, teenage boys started a game of tag football. "I'm so sorry, Hannah. I should've..."

"Yeah, you should have, Seeley. But you didn't."

"I didn't. I thought we were over."

"Did she come over last night?"

Might as well. He was going to get his balls handed on a platter, anyway. "Yes."

"Seduced you, didn't she?" A bright flush crept up her cheeks.

He tampered down his temper; of course Hannah had the right to get angry. "She actually dropped off some stuff I'd left at her apartment, and gave back her spare key. She said she wanted to give me privacy, since, you know... we were together."

Hannah leaned back against the bench. "Fuck."

"Look, babe, I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what to say, really, but I am really, truly sorry. I thought I was ready to move on, and you were the best thing that happened to me over the past year, and you're special, okay, Hannah?" He slipped down from his seat and knelt down in front her on the grass, wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "You will meet a good, decent, handsome man who isn't stupidly in love with someone else and who can give you what you deserve, because you deserve so much more than me. I'm sorry, I really am, and I never meant to lead you on like this. You did not deserve this at all."

She took a deep, cleansing breath, her eyes red-rimmed. "You're a good man, Seeley."

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I try."

"I guess you're still in love with her, huh?"

"I guess I am."

Hannah leaned down and kissed his forehead, her lips warm and soft as a summer rain. "Don't screw this up, Seeley. You'd better know what you're doing."

"I hope I'm doing the right thing."

Booth hauled himself back on the bench, intertwining his fingers with Hannah's. This was them: easy, free from encumbrances, two people underneath the spiraling branches of an old tree, holding hands. For any other man, this would've been perfect. But he wasn't any other man – he knew that as soon as he'd held Temperance Brennan in his arms, her lips soft and fierce against his, laced with tequila and lust. For a moment, he wished that he'd never met Bones, that he wasn't in this predicament. But she had burrowed deeply into his consciousness, into the very source of his being, and he couldn't see himself living without her. And after last night, ah...

They watched as the football drew a perfect arc against the DC horizon, tracing a sweet curve as the boys ran after the ball, laughing and yelling and heckling each other as they tumbled, up and over each other as they chased the projectile. Hannah gave his hand a squeeze. "We should go."

He tilted his head and looked at her, trying to memorize her features. She deserved to be remembered, to become a part of the sum of his whole being. "I'll miss you, babe."

Hannah gave him a brilliant smile, as though the sun was peeking out from a bank of clouds. "I know."

They parted at the bus stop – she headed down to the bus stop at the corner of Constitution and 12th, and he turned at the opposite direction. He stopped at the pavement, watching her walk away: her paisley-print scarf fluttering in the wind, her hair ruffling as she turned and waved at him for one last time. He responded, his heart unsure whether it wanted to sink to the bottom of his shoes or begin a victory lap around Henry Park.

Lost in thought, Booth didn't notice the enthusiastic greeting of a very familiar-looking FBI psychologist and profiler until at the last minute, when he almost met Lance Sweets head to head – or rather, chest to head, given the height disparity between the two. "Agent Booth," greeted Sweets happily. "What are you doing out here?"

"Can't a guy get some fresh air?" he growled. Sweets tampered down his enthusiasm; he was just glad everyone was home, and things were back to normal. Well, _almost_.

"I just got back from lunch with Daisy at the Founding Fathers. Things are looking really good for us," rambled Sweets as he fell into step with Booth. "She said there was this Canadian guy at the dig in Indonesia, Logan whatever, but she thinks it's not going to work out. Anyway, I've invited her over to my place this Friday for a round of Settlers of Catan, maybe you guys would want to come along – "

"Thanks, Sweets, but I'm not in the mood."

"I'm sorry, Agent Booth, but is everything all right?"

"I just broke up with my girlfriend, okay, Sweets?," Booth snapped. "I'm not exactly in the best mood right now."

Sweets pursed his lips and looked at the older man with sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk? I can make some room for you this afternoon, you know, help you process this situation, especially in light of the recent situations between you and Dr. Brennan returning from – "

Booth paused at the stoplight and turned to glare at Sweets. "Bones and I are fine, okay, Sweets? She's been nothing but supportive with me and Hannah, and I don't want you poking into our private lives, especially about this break-up, all right?" He looked at the wide-eyed expression on the younger man's face and took a deep breath, tried to keep the rising anger in check. "Please, Sweets. This is something we have to figure out on our own."

Sweets nodded in understanding. "Okay. Okay, no meddling." He held out his hands, palms outward, in a gesture of surrender. "I won't bring it up."

"Ever."

"But – "

"Sweets!"

"All right, all right. But remember, you and Dr. Brennan are scheduled for tomorrow at ten in the morning for your evaluation, Otherwise, I can't clear you two to go into the field."

"Fine, whatever."

The pair finally arrived at the Hoover and went their separate ways. As soon as Booth returned to the bullpen, striding back into his office, Sweets pulled out his phone. "Angela? Yeah, it's me. You'll never believe what happened..."

* * *

"Sweetie!" Angela Montenegro-Hodgins scrambled up the forensics platform at the Jeffersonian Institution's Medico-Legal lab, her hand-embroidered lab coat flying behind her. "Guess what?"

Brennan sat at one of the examination tables, a reconstructed skull in front of her. She was placing tissue markers on the bones, concentrating on her work. A plastic box, neatly labeled with the name and serial number of the remains she was studying, was beside her. "What is it?" she asked, without looking up from the skull.

Angela looked down at her best friend over the edge of her clipboard disapprovingly. "You are so useless when it comes to girl talk."

"I don't approve of gossip, you know that Ange."

"Well, you'll approve of this one. Turns out, Mister F-B-I-Can't-Take-My-Eyes-Off-You just broke up with that blonde bimbo he met over in Afghanistan. Bet you didn't know that, huh?"

Brennan looked up, her blue eyes widening as she realized the implications of Angela's news. "Oh no."

"Oh no what? Hey, I thought you'd actually like it, especially since you skedaddled faster than a rabbit on acid when we went out for drinks a couple of weeks ago."

But the scientist turned pale as she stood up and started pacing the length of the forensics platform in a panic. "Ange, it's my fault!"

"Look, sweetie, unless you were sending out psychic waves of doom towards the Hoover, I don't see how it could be your fault." Angela leaned over the table and pulled Brennan towards her. "Stop that, Bren. What happened?"

To her surprise, Brennan flopped down on the edge of the table and buried her face in her hands. "ItoldhimIlovehim."

"I'm sorry, you told who what?" Camille Saroyan strode up the platform with a folder in her hand. "Hodgins wanted me to tell you that he's identified the particulates on the clothing of that Spanish conquistador you assigned to him. God, when are we going to get Booth in here with the next murder?"

Brennan looked at her in askance. Angela crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head towards the silent anthropologist. "Apparently, Miss Smarty Pants here told Booth she loved him."

Cam raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And you told him this when?"

Brennan looked down at her fingers, nervously flexing them on her lap. "He... he came over last night. Well, actually, I went over to his place first. I dropped off some of the stuff he left at my apartment. And then he came over to my apartment and he said that he loved me and I said it back and now I don't know what to do." Her voice tripped over the last part of her sentence, as though she was five again and wasn't sure whether or not she was in trouble with her teacher.

"And now, Booth just broke up with Hannah Montana," added Angela helpfully.

Cam's lips twitched, as though she was trying to hold back a smile.

"I don't even know who that is," muttered Brennan. "But I need to fix this."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold your horses, Dr. Brennan!" Cam positioned herself in front of Brennan, just as the anthropologist's fight-or-flight reflexes took over. "Let's think about this in a calm and rational manner."

Brennan huffed. "Fine. I can do that."

"Being in love isn't as easy as it sounds, huh, sweetie?" Angela quipped.

"Who said I was in love?"

"You just told Booth last night!"

"Yes, but that was in a... partner kind of way."

"Bren, you and Booth bring a whole other level to the word 'partner'."

"I don't know what that means."

"I believe what Ms. Montenegro is trying to say - " said Cam.

"That's _Mrs._ Montenegro-Hodgins, Dr. Saroyan. See the hyphen? It's there."

" - as we were trying to say, Dr. Brennan," continued Cam, ignoring the forensic artist's interjection, "is that we've noticed that you and Booth use the term 'partners' when you are trying to describe the relationship that is uniquely yours. And we've also noticed, empirically speaking, that when you use that term to describe you and Booth, it's usually in the context of trying to diffuse the assumptions that there is something romantic between the two of you. Now, it's none of our business, but you two are our friends, and we've seen you dancing around each other like Hodgins' mating beetles, and we _know_, Dr. Brennan, we know that there's been something going on between the two of you and it's about damn time you acknowledge it."

Angela looked at her boss with new-found respect. "Nice one."

Brennan glared at the two women. "That still places me in a quandary. I believe it was my declaration of... affection that prompted Booth to make this ill-informed decision."

"Hey, hey I can smell a conspiracy cooking in the air," said Hodgins as he bounded up the steps two at a time. "What's going on?"

All eyes turned to Brennan, who glared at everyone else, stood up, picked up the tray with the skull she was working on, and stalked back to her office, closing the door behind her.

"What did I say?"

Angela gave him a peck on the cheek. "She's in love, babe. And she's trying to deal with it."

* * *

Brennan paced the length of her office, trying to shake off the nervous energy that seemed to course through her when Angela told her that Booth had broken up with Hannah. On the one hand, she knew, logically speaking, that the decision was not in her hands: she was certain that none of her actions veered towards disapproval of the relationship, and although she was surprised that Booth had moved on, it wasn't as though he didn't warn her, all those months ago outside the steps of the Hoover. Still, she was unsure of her own motivations for returning his gifts in the first place. If she asked herself honestly, she knew that part of it was really because she didn't want to have any more reminders of his presence in her home. Five years of accumulated items, all packed up in one box - it was almost as though the line was being drawn all over again. My stuff remains in my place, and your stuff stays at yours.

But in truth, she was aware that it hurt, his leaving and moving on. And she was unprepared for the pain - she was so sure that, upon their return, she would finally be able to say those words, and he would say them back, and they would tumble into bed like those stupid romantic comedies that Angela made her watch during their girls' day outs. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. When did she rely on someone else to make her happy? She could rest on her laurels - she earned them through her own independence, her own drive, her own intelligence. She didn't need anyone: not Booth, not any other man, to make her feel special.

But she couldn't seem to let the little spark of hope die down. Change was inevitable; as an anthropologist, she was cognizant of the fact that in order to survive, things have to change. But was change good in terms of her relationship with Booth? He was the most important person in her life, that much she was willing to concede. And the fear that if things changed for them, so would that foundation of trust (of love?) that had taken them years to create. But how to test that hypothesis? For once, Brennan became aware that even _she_ had changed in relation to everyone and everything around her. She was more aware of pop culture references, had become more adept at recognizing facial expressions and tonal changes, had learned how to pop her heart into overdrive every once in awhile. And Booth was the catalyst for that change. And all that time, she was trying to deny it, to push it away, only to have it slam back into her face with the force of a hurricane.

"Oh my god," she whispered to herself, sinking into the soft cushions of her office couch.

Her mobile phone buzzed, breaking through her reverie. She stared at the caller ID. _Seeley Booth_. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the "Answer" button and held the device to her ear. "Brennan."

"Hey Bones."

"Hi Booth." _Keep calm, carry on._ "Do we have a case?"

"No, no, no. I'm still on desk duty. First day at work and all that. What are you working on?"

"The identification of an unnamed Spanish conquistador that was thought to have been part of Magellan's maiden voyage to the Spice Islands. Of course, we're still in the process of authentication, and since the remains were recovered from the Pacific Ocean after 300 years, it's suffice to say that..."

"Okay, I get it." She could hear the warmth in his voice, trickling like treacle through the phone. "Have you eaten?"

A pause. "No, not yet."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm already in the parking lot. Chop chop, Bones!"

The last line echoed in her ear. She looked over her shoulder and saw Booth's familiar figure cutting through the hallway of the lab, his phone pressed to his ear as he made his way towards her office. He had a familiar-looking cardboard box balanced on his hip. For a moment, she felt her stomach flutter; her words from the night before echoing in her ear. _Love? This is the man I love?_

A deep breath. _Yes. This is the man I love_.

"Okay, Booth," she said, walking towards her desk to grab her bag, holding on to the phone as she shrugged off her lab coat. "I'll be right out. See you in a bit."

**A/N: Excited for the final part? Me too! You know what would make me write even faster? Awesome reviews! *twirls around* **


	3. Into Your Gravity

**Title: **A Love Warm and Bright (3/3)

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers**: Up til the end of S5 and current S6 spoilers.

**Disclaimer**: Bones is the property of FOX, Hart Hanson, and various other awesome and intelligent people who work for one of the best television shows currently on air.

**Author's Notes**: First up, thank you to all those who reviewed this story, put it on their story alerts, and took the time to favorite this. I really appreciate all your comments and words of encouragement - it definitely kept me going even though my brain was stuck and I desperately needed a cup of coffee. Thanks also to my Mysterious Beta S, who helped me on the tough parts and made sure that all my i's were dotted and t's crossed. :)

* * *

Brennan followed Booth out of the Jeffersonian and into the standard-issued SUV parked just outside the lab entrance. She didn't say anything when he opened the door for her; kept her mouth quiet as he returned the cardboard box bearing her things (_his things_, she reminded herself) into the back of the van, and then slipping into the driver's seat and revving up the engine.

They drove around the block once, twice, passing by the diner and the Founding Fathers, and hooking a left down 3rd Street towards Independence Avenue. She watched the blur of traffic from the side window, the undulating February sunlight peeking from the rooftops and reflecting against the glass office buildings. Booth drove quietly, and she didn't feel the need for conversation - she knew he would talk when he was ready.

After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled up to the parking lot of the Botanic Gardens. Even after all the years she lived in DC, there was something about the Gardens that appealed to her romantic side (although she would vehemently deny that she even had a romantic side in the first place; it was simply not practical). Maybe it was the abundance of flora that surrounded them, or the graceful curves and glass designs of the Conservatory that dominated the skyline, or the simple peacefulness that pervaded the gardens. Allowing Booth to take her by the hand, they walked through the entrance and wandered into the Regional Gardens. He made his way towards one of the simple stone seats that were half-hidden behind a copse of trees, and she followed.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as soon as they had sat down. She noticed that he still hadn't let go of her hand.

He nodded quietly. "I know."

"Did you love her?"

He took a deep breath, stroking the soft skin at the back of her hand with his thumb. The sensation sent tendrils of warmth coursing through Brennan's body despite the slight chill in the air. "I don't think I gave it the chance, you know? Out there, in the desert, things are different. You don't know if there were mines hidden under the ground, or if there was an army hiding in the next village, or if there was a gun aimed at your head from a hundred miles away. Things were tense. You wanted to grasp at any chance you had for happiness, for a moment when you could forget that you were in the middle of a war." Booth's face was drawn and pale, his brow furrowing as he tried to find the right words to tell her what he was thinking.

"Hannah was my shot at that. I know it sounds mean and callous right now, but when you're waiting to die, it's all you've got. She was embedded into our unit for six months, and she knew, Bones. She _knew_ everything. She knew about the heat, the god-fuckin'-awful rations we had, the sounds of shells exploding near the base, all that blood staining the sand. They were so young, Bones, they barely had a chance to live. And I taught them how to kill. And she understood that. And she still held me in the middle of the night, when I couldn't take it anymore. All that guilt, all that anger directed at nothing. There was nobody to blame. I made the decision to leave."

She curled her fingers into his palm, fitting them into the grooves between his fingers as though they were two perfect pieces of the same puzzle. "I'm sorry I drove you away. And I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry... that I wasn't brave enough, or strong enough, or good enough for you."

"Naw, Bones." He stared at the ground, the rich brown fertile soil peeking out from beneath the flagstones, the slight scuff marks on his shoes. "I chose to go back, you know? I could've stayed. I could've waited." _For you_.

"You know I run away when I'm frightened, Booth."

"I know." He looked at her closely, trying to read her indecipherable blue eyes. "Are you still scared?"

She took a deep breath, willing her lips to say the right words for once. "No."

"Then it's not your fault."

They were silent for a long time. She leaned her head on his shoulder; he rested his chin on her hair, breathed in the scent of her shampoo mingling with the rising scent of roses.

"I thought about you a lot, at the dig. But I wasn't sure about what I was feeling. And I thought for awhile, I could still ignore it. I thought I could forget it. I thought that it wasn't real." She sighed quietly, looping her arm around his and slipping her hand into his. Booth tightened his fingers around hers. "I'm no good at the love stuff, Booth. You know that. You've seen me at my worst."

He smiled into her hair. "But you forget, Bones, that I've also seen you at your best."

"Yes, but my best was always with - " _You._

_Oh._

"You said you love me, Bones."

"I find that there was no other word to accurately and truthfully describe this emotion I have concerning you, Booth." She burrowed her head into his sleeve jacket for a moment, as though she was suddenly shy. "Did you know that the ancient Greeks classified love into four distinct types? _Eros, agape, philia, storge_."

"You forgot the fifth one: _xenia_."

She looked up to catch the satisfied expression on his face. "That's right, baby," he said, "There's more in this head than just Steelers stats."

She laughed. "I don't know what that means."

Booth smiled at her. "So here's a question for you, Bones: which type of love do you feel for me?"

She pondered his question for awhile. "I believe it started off with _philia_ - a love of the mind, a sense of family. You found my brother and father, Booth, and you gave me the family I have right now, and not just by blood. I would never have stayed at the Jeffersonian this long had it not been for Angela and Jack, Cam, even Zack. You made me put down roots.

"And then it evolved into _eros_ - sexual desire, passion, love of the body. I've always known you were a handsome man, Booth, but somehow, you surpassed our culture's definition of what handsome is. What made you attractive, it's more than just having a well-structured face or extremely proportional musculature. You're also a good man, and a good father, and a good friend, and I discovered that all of those things contributed to my desire of you."

"So basically, you thought I was hot and sexy?"

She snorted. "Don't think too highly of yourself, Booth. Your belt buckle might explode."

He cleared his throat. _Damn, my pants are too tight_. "And now?"

"I believe that it has evolved once more, especially in your absence, into _agape_ - a love of the soul. I find it difficult to describe accurately how I feel about that, but rather everything about you... everything about you reminds me of home." Shakily, she tried to draw a breath. "I haven't had a home since I was fifteen, Booth."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards him into a hug. She pressed her nose into his shoulder, ashamed that he would see her tears. Booth rubbed his hands up and down her back soothingly, murmuring nonsense words into her ear. "Bones, are you crying?"

"No I'm not," she said thickly, fully aware that her sinuses were closing up and her eyes were watery with tears.

"Then why do you sound like you just woke up with a head cold, huh?" He hauled her up to her feet and started ushering her towards the exit. "Come on, let's get you home, okay? I don't want you getting pneumonia in this weather."

"Pneumonia isn't caused by the weather, Booth - "

"I don't care, come on, we're going somewhere _warm_."

* * *

Her apartment was nearer. He noted that she still had unpacked boxes scattered around the living room and dining area. Her furniture gleamed, as though someone had given them a fresh wax and a good dusting, and he sank thankfully into the sofa, unraveling his scarf and pulling off his gloves as she moved towards the kitchen. "I'll make us some coffee," she called out.

"That would be good, Bones." He shrugged off his trenchcoat and stretched out his legs on the couch. The sun was setting, and the living room windows faced the horizon. Shards of light lengthened across the hardwood floor, tracing the outlines of the cityscape, a play of light and shadow. He missed this - this moment of quiet just before the storm, when it was just the two of them, getting ready to face the rest of the world. He never really realized how much he relied on her presence until he stood in his regulation fatigues, out in the middle of God-knows-where with sand in his mouth and a gun in his hand, and he turned to say something to her only to realize that she wasn't there.

She came back to the living room holding two mugs in her hands. She placed them on the coffee table and looked at him sprawled on her couch, his head resting on one of her throw pillows, and gave him a patented glare. "If you're going to put your feet on my couch, you should take your shoes off first. You're going to soil the fabric."

He smiled as he toed off his shoes and let them drop on the floor. He wiggled his toes gleefully, looking up at her. "I'm wearing your socks," he said, tugging at the hem of his dress slacks to display the burgundy red cotton socks pattered with skulls and crossbones.

She raised an eyebrow. "You know, that must not be so comfortable," she said quietly, sliding into the couch beside him, her fingers cradling the back of his head. Gently, she maneuvered him so that he was lying on his back, his head cradled on her lap, her fingers running through his cropped dark hair. He sighed in delight. The old Bones, the pre-I-need-to-go-to-Maloopoopoo-Islands-to-find-myself Bones would never do this. He could almost enjoy the way her defenses went down; she was a much warmer person than she allowed herself to be.

"Booth?"

His eyes were closed, lulled by the rhythmic strokes of her fingers on his scalp. "Yep?"

"What do we do now?"

Booth cracked open one eye to see Brennan's wide-eyed expression in front of him, her cornflower eyes swirling with emotion. "Well," he said quietly, "we will still be partners, friends, that's for sure. Nothing will change that, come hell or high water, okay Bones?"

She gave him a soft smile. "I think I know what that means."

"Good. Then you know that we're okay, you and me. And as for this thing... well, you might as well change your Facebook status to 'attached to the hip with Seeley Booth', 'cos baby, when you said you loved me, that means it's for keeps."

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about, right?" But there was a smile of relief of Brennan's face. "But it feels so... unbalanced right now. I mean, you just broke up with Hannah today, and now you want to what? Be attached to me at the hip? Not only would that be a dangerous medical procedure, but I also fail to see the implications - "

"Bones, Bones, Bones. Relax. It's a metaphor. And you're right, we should take this slow. Get our bearings."

"You know that statistically speaking, when you say you love someone forever, it's impossible. Because forever doesn't exist."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can't try, Bones. The point is, we have to try. And you and me, this is our shot at trying to get to forever." He pulled himself into an upright position and sat beside Brennan, their thighs touching, shoulders bumping against each other. She turned her face to look at him. He bridged the gap, their breaths mingling. He saw her gaze drop to half-mast, felt the warmth rising from her body as she leaned forward and -

This was no drunken kiss, pregnant with possibilities. This was not a kiss brought on by extenuating circumstances, the moment stretching into infinity like a piece of peppermint gum. Neither was this a kiss of desperation, coated with tears and broken dreams. No, this was a kiss that meant that a universe was being born, stars careening out of orbit, everything crashing down around their ears - her lips teased his, arms twining around his neck as she pulled him down towards her, her tongue caressing the soft flesh of his mouth. She was warm and pliable in his hands, making quiet breathy gasps as his fingers skimmed the surface of her stomach underneath the woolen fabric of her sweater, brushed the soft underside of her breasts.

She was the one who broke off the kiss, gasping, her pale cheeks flushed with a becoming shade of pink. "Booth...," she breathed out. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck, her legs half-straddling him on the couch. She leaned her forehead against his, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Slow, Bones, real slow." He ran his hands up and down her back, sliding down the curves of her hips to rest there. "We should take it slow. I haven't even taken you out on a date yet."

"We've gone on dates. The diner. Wong Foo's. Founding Fathers. Even formal events at the Jeffersonian."

"Yes, but we went as _partners_, Bones. We've never gone out together on a date _date_, you know, where you dress up in pretty clothes and lacy lingerie and a pair of fuck-me heels, and I pick you up and bring you flowers and take you out for dinner and dancing and maybe you'll let me drive you home, and maybe invite me up for a cup of coffee..."

"And in your hypothetical scenario, how would this 'date date' end?"

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Babe, if I play my cards right, there's only gonna be one ending."

"And how soon do we actually prove your hypothesis?"

"Soon. I promise" Regretfully, he pressed his lips against her forehead and then gently extricated himself from her embrace. He reached out to take a swig of the coffee she had left on the table, grimacing as the cool liquid touched his tongue. _Were we making out that long?_ Beside him, Brennan composed herself - her dark brown hair now tucked neatly behind her ears, her bangs brushing her forehead, her legs primly pressed together. His eyes wandered the apartment, his eyes finally settling on Jasper and Brainy Smurf resting on the coffee table, where he'd left them a couple of nights ago. A surge of affection went through him at seeing his gifts so prominently displayed. Brennan saw him looking and nudged his shoulder playfully. "Like what you see?"

"I'm just glad they're home."

"You do know they're just inanimate objects, right Booth?"

"Sometimes inanimate objects hold an intrinsic value that's bigger compared to what they actually are, Bones. You should know that. You're an anthropologist."

She cocked her head at him thoughtfully. "You just used my own discipline on me."

He grinned. "Apparently, I hang around squints too much."

"Who said that?"

He felt a pang of sadness. "Hannah." He took a deep breath. "She said she felt dumb after meeting you guys for the first time and asked me if I had any 'normal' friends. I guess that's the first sign, huh? She didn't like my family."

Brennan reached out and placed her hand on his knee. "I'm sure Parker must've liked her."

"She never even met Parker - she knew I had a son, though. But there was never a chance: she was too busy whenever I'd invite her to come along to one of Parker's games, and he didn't want her to stay over when it was his weekends with me."

"So when you were referring to your family...?"

"I was referring to you guys. Ange. Hodgins. Cam. Sweets. My family."

She smiled quietly. "You once told me there's more than one kind of family."

"Glad to see you finally believe me."

"I've always held your opinion in high regard."

"Does that mean you'll finally eat apple pie?" he asked hopefully.

No," she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Fruit should not be cooked. Plus, you lose all the nutritional aspects of the apples when you cook them in sugar and preservatives..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." He stood up and opened his arms, offering her a hug. "Anyway I have to go."

"Oh." He didn't miss the look of disappointment on her face as she stood up and stepped into his embrace. It lasted only for a moment, before she shrugged off his arms and bent down to pick up the coffee mugs on the table. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely." He waggled his eyebrows. "After all, you owe me a date now."

She rolled her eyes at him and ushered him towards the door, carefully balancing the ceramic mugs in her hands. "By the way, my stuff is with you."

"Oh you mean _my_ stuff, Bones. After all, you said you didn't need them anymore."

"No, I said - " He silenced her with a swift kiss, his tongue quickly tasting her skin and coffee. She glared at him when he pulled back. "I hope you're not planning to do that at work. It would be highly inappropriate."

"And you know I'm all about being appropriate," he deadpanned.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher his words. "Oh!" she said, her eyes lighting up. "You're being sarcastic."

He laughed as he exited the apartment. "Yes, yes I am. And as for 'your things', you're going to have to earn them back, Bones."

"What? How?"

"By going out with me." And with that, he closed the door behind him, missing the expression of pure joy flash across Brennan's face.

**A/N:** **And yeah, that's the end. But not to worry - there will be a sequel in the works. Thanks again for reading this! *hugs and kisses***


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